


Cage

by Mazen



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternative Beginning, F/M, Ratings may change because Erik's past life sucked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-12-18 07:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18245183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazen/pseuds/Mazen
Summary: Gustave Daaé moves to Paris with his daughter Christine. The new patron of Opera Populaire, Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, has guaranteed a spot in the orchestra for Gustave. In turn the Vicomte only wishes for Gustave's help to persuade Christine into marrying him.Gustave knows that his daughter won't be allowed to sing professionally if she becomes a Vicomtess, though it's her dream, but he accepts the position and advises her to say yes to the young man's proposal. Christine does what her father says and gives up her freedom for a golden cage.But some songbirds cannot be held in cages and Christine meets someone who will let her out. At least that's what she thinks.





	1. Is someone there?

The premiere had been an utter success. The audience called for encores several times and M. Reyer was more than happy to please them. It wasn't often that the orchestra was the center of attention at the Opera Populaire, but the arrival of their brillant new violinist and his enthralling melodies had soon captured the heart of every Parisian of the upper class. They came mostly for him, but M. Reyer didn't mind. He got recognition as well and could surely demand a raise from the managers next month.

Gustave was a sheer genius with an endless supply of compositions that would let their symphony flourish. At least that's what M. Reyer shared with the future Vicomtess de Chagny who listened intensely to follow his slurry words in a language she was still struggling with at times. She was waiting for her father to finish his celebrations with the other musicians. M. Reyer was waiting for his cab home as he had definitely had enough already.

Christine was joyous to hear the well respected conductor hold her father in such high regards, but was acutely aware that she was learning that her father had lied. Because his compositions were not endless. He hadn't written anything new since Christine's mother had died in childbirth almost 20 years ago. Those beautiful melodies he'd supplied the opera with in the past months were ones that she had heard all her life; a musical telling of meeting your soulmate. But her father had lost his soulmate and with her, his ability to create his own original music.

He never blamed Christine for anything, but since her mother had died giving birth to her, Christine felt that she was in debt to her father and to her mother's memory. She had always imagined that she would take the stage as a singer. It had seemed perfect when they had travelled years back. He had played at private parties and if the host wished for it, she would sing along. They had been popular among the upper class and it had been a wonderful time for them both as they travelled to new places all over Europe.

Sadly the travels had ended when Professor Valerius and his wife had discovered that her father's health was deteriorating. They had been forced to settle down in Sweden where Christine worked as a laundress while her father struggled to find work. She would also perform that the local theater where she was able to keep her voice trained.

When Raoul de Chagny, a Vicomte from France, had visited his family's old vacation house in Karlshamn where Christine had grown up, he had been happy to find that she was still residing there. He had begged her to move to France with him, but she had vowed to stay with her father who had fallen into a slight depression. She could never leave him. 

A few months later Raoul had sent a letter to her father, informing him of a well paid position as first violinist at the Opera Populaire and it wasn't long before they were on the long journey towards France. Christine had been reluctant to go because she didn't want to abandon their small cottage, but her father had told her that he was nervous about travelling alone in his weakened stage. Luckily he had secured the position at the opera almost immediately. Christine had plans of auditioning there too when the time for auditions came. 

To her joy Raoul was often at the opera and they quickly rekindled their childhood friendship. It wasn't long before he asked to court her. Her father had encouraged it and was immensely pleased to hear it when Raoul proposed to her. She had hesitated because it would mean that singing at the opera was out of the question. It wouldn't fit a Vicomtess. But her father urged her to choose that safe path and so she did.

She hadn't regretted the decision, but she still felt the pull of the stage every time she went to the opera. And tonight was no exception.

When M. Reyer's cab arrived, he bid her goodnight and left her alone in the lobby. It didn't seem like her father would be ready to go home for a while, so she went to search for him in the narrow halls backstage. She quickly got lost in the maze of corridors and the many rooms with very few name tags.

Somehow she found herself at the right wing of the dark stage. It called to her and she followed its call. The auditorium was quiet, enveloped in gentle shadows. The chandelier was unlit, but still glinted in the faint light from the few gas lamps by the exits.

Many would feel small on the center of the stage in the large room, but Christine felt empowered. Somewhere, perhaps in a distant room or from her inner being, music began to flutter and she swayed with it as she let her soul soar out in a rendering of Uti Vår Hage. Each note resonated in the auditorium, giving her voice wings.

It was a glorious feeling and she looked out at the empty seats and imagined a full audience, enraptured by the sounds that flowed from her. Her gaze lifted to every private box and the balconies as if they were filled with admiring eyes. Suddenly her voice broke as a white shape moved within a shadow of a box to the left. Her eyes flickered rapidly over the dark layout of the box as she wondered if it had been trick of the light. 

Fearing that she had been caught by someone in the closed auditorium, she scattered away from the scene and walked back into the narrow opera halls to find her father. The stage was not hers, no matter how much it felt like home. 

***

 

She didn't know how to spend her empty days. She was taking French lessons with a tutor that Raoul had provided for her, so she could perfect her language skills and eliminate her pronounced accent which wasn't fit for a Vicomtess. She had made a lot of progress with this, probably because as a singer she had learned many foreign songs. However, reading and writing in French had proven to be a lot more difficult for her. Therefore she spent much time practicing this, no matter how tedious it was.

The tutor also took her on tours of the city which she had enjoyed immensely and when the lessons were over, she often strolled the city on her own as long as possible for a lone young woman.

She didn't spend much time with her father, except on his few days off. He didn't have to be at the opera before noon, but Christine's lessons were always set before lunch. Her father's evenings were filled with performances which is why she often was alone most of the day.

Raoul was at the navy yard for at least the rest of the month and perhaps even until their wedding in four months. Originally she hadn't thought that it would be a problem as she had expected to prepare everything for the wedding. Until she discovered that Raoul's mother and sisters were planning the wedding on their own, leaving very few decisions to Christine. Apparently this was fairly normal when a man of Raoul's class married below their station. His family was otherwise polite to her, but it was sad to think how little influence she had.

On afternoons where she didn't stroll the city, she stayed at her father's little apartment which Raoul had found for them. It wasn't much, but comfortable for her and her father. She was truly grateful for everything Raoul had done for them and longed for him to come home and spend more time with her again. Perhaps then she wouldn't feel so lonely.

Every evening where her father was playing at the opera, she would be there too. She didn't have money for a seat in the audience, but she was allowed to stay near the wings where the music could be heard clearly. Cast and crew rushed by her ever so often and she looked wistfully at the beautiful costumes and the excited smiles of the performers. If only it could be her, at least until the wedding. 

A few days after the premiere a voice interrupted her wishful dreaming.

"Pardon, Mademoiselle, are you lost?" Christine jumped at the soft whisper from behind her. No one from the cast or crew had spoken to her in the two months her father had worked there. Only people from the orchestra. She turned around to see a blonde ballerina around the same height and age as Christine. She was just much thinner. Curious brown eyes seemed to asses her as well.

"Oh. No, I'm just here for my father. He's the first chair violinist." She nodded towards the stage since she couldn't gesture for the pit. Only M. Reyer could be seen and even him just barely.

"You're the Swedish violinist's daughter? How wonderful, so good to meet you!" The girl took her hand and dragged her into larger area where there was much more space and they didn't have to whisper. "How exciting to come from another country. Please, tell me everything!"

And that's how she met Meg, an eager and carefree girl who had been a ballet rat at the opera since the age of 6. Her mother Madame Giry was the ballet instructor, a stern but kind woman who Christine's father had met years ago, but lost contact with until he had showed up at the very opera where she worked. She was stoic, even when Meg introduced her, while Meg was a ball of happy energy. But the older woman began to greet Christine every time she came to peek at the performances.

The nights, where her father stayed longer at the opera after the shows were over, became more frequent and Christine couldn't go home alone so late. So she was grateful to have found a friend in Meg who lived at the opera with her mother on the third floor over the dressing rooms. They often sat and talked for hours and Madame Giry always welcomed Christine into their little apartment.

But sometimes the ballet rats had to practice after a show. This was only if Madame Giry thought they had performed badly, but it seemed like a pointless exercise as all the girls were tired. However Christine knew nothing about ballet and perhaps she was just sad that she had to roam the opera alone.

Meg had helped her learn the layout of opera's halls and Christine often found herself at the empty stage when she was alone. It sang to her and she yearned to sing on it. After the last time where she was sure that someone had heard her, she hadn't dared to sing again.

Then came one night where she felt particularly lonely. It was the second night in a row where her father was staying late and Meg was scheduled to perform at a dance hall the next four weekdays. There was still a week until Raoul came back to Paris. She wandered the halls and wished for something to occupy her, so she wouldn't end the one place she couldn't deny tonight. It wasn't long before she stood on the stage again. She waited for several minutes for someone to move and reveal themselves, but there was no one.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she gathered her courage in case someone was there. When her eyes opened, she started to sing Der Hölle Rache, her favorite aria from The Magic Flute. It needed a powerful voice and though Christine's voice was quite untrained, she managed to do quite well. The acoustics in the auditorium helped greatly as she travelled through the hills and valleys of the melody while navigating through the unknown language.

This time she kept her eyes trained on the back row of the floor seats to avoid the distraction of seeing things that might not even be there. Instead she concentrated on keeping the steady flow of the aria and breathing correctly. It was a heady feeling to be on that stage and she felt the rightness of it all. She belonged here.

All too soon the aria ended and she stood in the silence of the auditorium, enjoying that she had performed without interruption, yet missing the reaction of an audience. 

All of a sudden a soft male voice glided through the room. 

_"Brava brava bravissima"_

Christine jumped towards the wing as she looked around for a sign of anyone, but she couldn't see anyone. She leaned out to look up at the dark box where she had seen a glimpse of white the first time a few weeks ago, but there was nothing. She wasn't running away this time, she decided. This person had as little reason to be there as she, it seemed.

"Hello?" She called. "Who's there?" She waited patiently for an answer, but nothing came. And yet, she felt a presence of someone near her. Then she heard her father call down the hall at the right wing and she reluctantly left the stage.

When her father stayed after the performance the evening after, she didn't mind. Instead she waited patiently as the auditorium was cleared of people and closed down for the night. She quickly took the stage again, this time having prepared a bit. She was wearing a pretty gown of blue velvet that matched her eyes. It was the finest day clothes she owned, a present from Raoul after they had arrived in Paris.

This afternoon she had warmed up her voice. It was a bit ridiculous since the warm up was hours before her fake performance, but she liked to think that it would have an effect. She was high on the feeling of being recognized for her voice since she wouldn't receive it otherwise. She was proud of her voice, of the strength it held and the joy it could provide others. 

She had prepared an aria from Carmen in advance, but as she stood on the dark stage, it felt all wrong. Instead she chose Casta diva from Norma. She had never felt secure in the role of Norma when she had performed it at the local theater in Sweden, but it felt so right at the moment.

She poured her heart into the lyrics, singing to the unseen Goddess. But whoever she was singing to in there was male and she wondered if it perhaps was an angel who watched her, invisible to the eye, but still very present in this opera. Her father had often told her a story about the Angel of Music and her thoughts swiftly conquered up a fantastic tale of a young woman who wasn't allowed to sing until she was visited by the Angel of Music.

Her little story was nice, but it was not how real life worked. Though she couldn't see anyone in the auditorium, it had to be a man. Her father's tales of ghouls and goblins had always enchanted her, but they were just stories.

The aria was brief and ended all to soon, but what followed threw her completely off balance. The applause of a single man echoed around the room as if a hundred men placed everywhere in the auditorium all applauded her. She was struck speechless at the strange phenomenon. When the applause ended, a dark red rose fell from the catwalk above her. She looked up, but saw no one. Picking up the rose, she noticed that a black silk ribbon was tied around the stem and it had been stripped of all its thorns.

"Thank you," she whispered and in a daze she walked out to find her father. 

It wasn't until the very next day that she really pondered over the incident. How had it been possible to hear so many versions of the same applause in the whole auditorium? It was obviously some kind of trick, but how was it done and who had done it? To what purpose? 

There was so many questions, but no answers. While she enjoyed these odd evenings of freedom on the stage, while still having someone who listened, it was very immoral to be alone with an unknown man, even in the extraordinary circumstances. She could talk to Meg about this when she was finished at the dance hall in two days, but it was a long time to wait and she wouldn't risk ruining it by talking about it with anyone else who might not be as open-minded.

As much as she loved her father and his compassion, he had changed since they had moved to Paris, especially concerning Christine. Before he had let her do whatever she wanted, trusting her judgement and wishing her to follow her heart. He knew that her dream was to sing professionally, to have music in her life. But when they had moved, he suddenly felt that the security in being married to Raoul was more important than her dream. Perhaps the big city had scared him and he was afraid that she could end up in the gutters, but it was still difficult for her that he didn't support her in the same way.

Whoever it was in the closed auditorium, it was someone who enjoyed her singing and she would like to keep that as long as she could. If only she could talk to him. 

The next night she almost didn't wait to see if her father would be staying late and she was gone as soon as he had asked if he could stay. By now it was such a regular occurrence that he tried to get her to stay home each evening, so she wouldn't have to wait for him, but she just told him that she enjoyed the time at the opera, even alone. Except she wasn't always alone now.

She neared the stage by the right wing again. It was the easiest way there, she'd learned. Carefully she leaned out of the wing to see if the auditorium was completely empty; it was. She walked onto the stage once again, but was shocked when a single spotlight came on right where she was. She almost backed away, but the silence told her that it was  _him_ again. It was time to address this, whatever it was.

"I like to sing here - for you - but I would really like if I could talk to you afterwards. Please? It would mean a lot to me and if you want, you could even request something you'd like me to sing..." There was no answer, but she hadn't actually expected any. She knew that he was there since he had put the spotlight on her, now she just had to hope that he would talk to her.

She chose Verdi's aria  _Anch'io dischiuso un giorno_ from Nabucco, telling herself that the choice was purely coincidental, despite the lyrics about having lost the excitement and joy in life. The aria is difficult to master because it requires that one can sing from the bottom to the top of ones range at high speed, but Christine loved the challenge. Hopefully her mystery listener didn't mind her imperfections. If he did, she wouldn't care, she decided.

When she finished, she didn't know what to expect. But the only thing, she hadn't counted on, was silence. Not a sound, not a rose nor a movement anywhere. The spotlight stayed on, but otherwise she might as well have been alone. She did however still feel a presence there. She waited longer than she would admit before she turned to leave, trying to hide her disappointment and fear that she had failed whoever had listened.

But when she turned, something small hit her in the back, then fell to the floor. The spotlight turned off. She turned around to find a strange folded piece of paper. It was folded in such a way that it seemed to have wings, like a bird and yet not. She looked out in the auditorium, but she couldn't see anything because her eyes hadn't gotten used to the dark after having the spotlight on her. She couldn't see the paper either.

Too curious, she ran down from the stage and to one of the dim gas lamps by the exits. What she saw on the scrap of paper seemed at first to be childish scribbles, but after concentrating she was able to decipher it. 

_Box 5, tomorrow night, 10 o'clock_

It was all it said. She folded it once to hide in her bust, she noticed something on the back. She turned it around and gasped when she saw it: A delicate pencil drawing of her on stage. She had never looked so beautiful.


	2. The Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting in box 5 doesn't go as Christine expected, but she quickly learns more about her mystery man another way.

Christine was simply beside herself with excitement. Of course she did have a fair share of tempedition too as one should have, but the excitement was by far the most pronounced. So much in fact that she had a hard time hiding it from her father that evening. As they walked home, she struggled to keep her hands steady instead of reaching for the strange note with the beautiful drawing of her.

She longed to share it with her father and a year ago she would have done it without the worry of properiety. But now that she was engaged to Raoul, she couldn't share what another man had given her. Or even worse: That she had sung for him. Because no matter how much she tried to hide it, the fact was that she had returned tonight to sing for that man and not just for herself. But it was nice to be acknowledged for her talent and she shouldn't have to feel bad about relishing that. 

But she did, very much in fact. Her father noticed her fidgeting too. She had never been good at keeping secrets and especially not from him. 

"Has it been a long night, älskling?" His voice was soft and sympathic. She knew that he felt bad about the long hours they were apart, but she had always been so lucky to have him around when she was growing up. There was no doubt that she missed him, but she didn't blame him for the time they spent apart, despite how difficult it could be. She wondered though if it was difficult for him too or if it was rather freeing for him that she wasn't there all the time.

"No, Papa, it wasn't so bad. I like to wander around the opera, you know that." She wasn't lying, just not telling the whole truth. Was she to tell him everything, this night would not end pleasantly and she really wanted it too. He smiled secretively to her.

"Perhaps you're anxious for your fiancée's return?" She looked over at him with wide eyes. "I know, you probably don't want to talk about it with your old man, but there's nothing wrong with being excited about seeing him." He chuckled and she tried to imitate it. In all honesty she had been surprised when he had mentioned Raoul because she hadn't thought about him all day. Was it wrong of her to forget about her fiancée and instead think about a man she hadn't even met?

They walked the rest of the way home in silence. Christine bid her father goodnight before getting ready for bed. As she sat down to brush her chestnut curls she unfolded the note and studied it. First the drawing of her - was that why he had set the spotlight on her? - and then the spidery scribbes. The bold, deep male voice from the other night had proved to her that it wasn't a child who had been there, despite the writing. 

She thought about what else she knew. It was a man with a magnificent voice and possibly a knowledge of Italian. Of course anyone could've learned those words of praise without being able to say another word in Italian, but the way the words had flowed naturally around the room, she had a feeling that the person was capable of speaking the language.

He was incredible at drawing and could somehow make his sounds move across a room as magic. The spotlight also led her to believe that he knew his way well around the opera.

The most obvious person who could be her mystery Voice was Ubaldo Piangi. While she had heard his voice many times in the performances she had seen and knew that he sounded nothing like the detached voice she had heard, it could be possible that Piangi could soften his voice. He was Italian, did seem quite unable to write and perhaps even read and he had worked at a circus when he was a child i Italy where he could've learned all sorts of illusions. She didn't know if he could draw, but it wasn't impossible.

But even as she tried to convince herself that it was in fact Piangi who had been listening to her, she knew that it couldn't be. The Voice had eluded intelligence and while Piangi was many things, intelligent was not one of them. And Piangi wouldn't hide away; he was uninhibited and loquacious. He would've put the spotlight on himself, not her.

She couldn't decern who else it could be. The presence in the auditorium had felt safe, but in no way familiar. She sighed and lay down her hair brush as she looked at the scribbles one last time tonight. She would've to wait. Tomorrow night had never seemed so far away. She folded the note and hid it inside her diary.

***

 

The next day was tedious. She didn't concentrate during her lessons, she barely ate any lunch and her whole afternoon was spent attempting to read a book, but instead glancing towards her diary which held the note she received yesterday. After a few hours of glancing after the diary's secret, she pulled out the note and studied it again. There was nothing remarkable about the paper, but everything else was peculiar and exciting. She tried to recreate the shape it had been folded into when she had found it, but without luck.

She wasted no time getting to the opera when it was time for the performance. It was still the excuse for coming there after all, though she didn't really care much about it anymore. She finally had other things on her mind, things that involved her. She couldn't perform on stage nor plan her wedding, but someone special found her worthy enough of their attention and had praised her in ways she hadn't imagined.

She didn't wait for the stagehands to finish cleaning up the stage because she wasn't going to use it. As soon as the audience had left, she ran up to the left side of the auditorium to the hall with entrances to the privacy boxes. To her dismay she arrived just in time to see Buquet, a stagehand, lock the last door to a box. 

"Sorry, darling, all the patrons have gone." He went a little too close, so Christine had to back up against the wall to avoid his stinking breath. "But if you're lonely, I'm always available." She shuddered at the thought of him touching her, so she used the best weapon she had against him.

"I'm engaged to the patron Vicomte de Chagny." She held up the beautiful ring he had given her when she had accepted his proposal. "I hope you're not suggesting what I suspect because the Vicomte would surely take offense to it." Buquet stepped away from her instantly and ducked his head.

"I apologize, Mademoiselle." He murmured and ran off. She exhaled in relief as she heard his retreating steps. Now she just had to figure out what to do about the locked box where she was supposed to meet the man behind the mysterious voice. Of course, he couldn't get in there either unless he had a key, so she would just have to wait for him.

She walked to the door to box 5 to wait, aware that she was 20 minutes early, but the moment she stood in front of the door, the lock clicked. She stared at the lock for a moment, then tried the handle. The door opened slightly. He had unlocked it from the inside! Slowly she opened the door further to peek inside.

"Hello?" She didn't dare to speak very loud. The box was dark, but she could see a tall shape on one of the seats inside.

"Come in, Mademoiselle Daaé." It was the voice she had heard praise her in Italian! But there was no Italian accent nor any accent at all. The shape didn't move to look at her unless he already was turned that way. It was impossible to see. She nodded, though she knew that he wouldn't be able to see it either, and stepped inside. She wondered for a moment if she should leave the door open. She was in a small privacy box with a strange man without chaperone and no one nearby. She really shouldn't be doing this.

"Please, close the door, Mademoiselle Daaé, and sit down." His voice was so soothing and safe that she did what he said without thinking any more about it. She was so intrigued by this m man, but it was frustrating that she couldn't see him. Of course they would be discovered by the stagehands still working behind the stage if they turned on any lights. But maybe they would talk long enough until it was safe to turn on some lights.

"How do you know my name? Have we met?" She was sure that she would've remembered his voice if they had met, but she wanted to know how he knew her name.

"We haven't. I'm just aware of everything that goes on in my opera." He sounded very matter-of-a-fact.

"But you're not one of the managers..."

"I am not." He moved a little, so she could see two yellow shimmers focused on her. Was that... his eyes? It must be a trick of the extremely dim light from the auditorium. "I have not been involved lately, but when I heard you sing..." He paused, suddenly in deep thought. The yellow shimmers disappeared for a moment, then returned brighter than before. "When is your audition?"

"I'm not auditioning." She mumbled and twisted her hands in her skirt like she always did when she was nervous. Raoul's mother had already commented on it twice.

"Why not?" Those two words were probably the most accusing words she had ever heard. She met the yellow eyes - because it must be his eyes - bravely.

"Because I'm to be a Vicomtess. It's not a proper occupation." She was anything but proud of the fact, but she wouldn't let him judge her decision.

"Not proper?" Suddenly the shadow rose from the seat, making her rise as well. He was so tall and imposing that she backed away in fear. He seemed to notice and abruptly sat down again. When he spoke again, it was barely restrained. "You have a gift. It would be sacrilege to waste it, Christine." This time he used her first name without permission, but she barely thought about it. How wonderful her name sounded when he said it! The first syllable was like a word in a soft prayer while the second sounded like the ending of a enthralling song.

She blinked as she tried to forget about the way he said her name and instead focus on his words. Was it truly sacrilege? Her voice was very good, though it could be better, but if it was a gift from God, then surely He would want her to use it. The thought of going against God was so wrong that she suddenly doubted whether she could marry if that meant that she couldn't use God's gift. 

"I want to train your voice, Mademoiselle Daaé." She emerged from the swarm of thoughts in her head. Now they were back to her last name. What was his name? "When you discover how I can make your song soar, you will decide for yourself if _marriage_ is more important than sharing your gift with the world." He said the word 'marriage' as if it was a dirty word.

"I will consider it." She was already sure that she would agree to this. "How much do you charge and where will it take place?" She thought that she heard a chuckle, but it was too brief to say for sure.

"I'm not charging you. If you follow my instructions, my payment will be hearing your voice reach its full potential." The yellow eyes seemed to blaze as he looked directly at her. "I will meet you every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday at 10 o'clock in the evening in the old dressing room in hall 1 at the very end. Your father will be busy while we rehearse. You will always wear a scarf around your neck when you're outside and you will drink more tea instead of coffee as you do with the Girys. Limit the sugar too. I want you to protect the gift you have, Christine."

His pronouncation of her name threw her off balance again and she forgot about the strange fact that he knew what she drank when she visited Meg. Instead she stared at his shape in fascination and wondered if he would say her name again if she asked nicely.

"Is there anything else you would like to know, Mademoiselle Daaé?" They were back to that again, then.

"Please, call me Christine." There, now she'd said it. "What may I call you, monsieur?" He gracefully rose from his seat, this time without seeming quite so imposing. He reached for her hand and she held it out to him. He was wearing gloves.

"You can call me Maestro,  _Christine._ " He dragged out her name and she shivered. Her hand was slowly brought to his lips and she felt the brush of them, but no warmth. Her fingers touched something cold and hard on his face, but she didn't get to find out what as he abruptly left go of her hand.

"Until tomorrow, then." He bowed curtly and without a sound left the small room. She turned around to stop him and thank him for the drawing, but as she looked down the hall, he was already gone.

In a daze she left the box, wondering if she should find Buquet, so he could lock it, then decided against it. It would've to stay unlocked.

She wandered down hall after hall without noticing where she was going. Her thoughts were caught up with the peculiar man she had met. All of the questions she had wanted to ask had been forgotten at the sound of his alluring voice which she could still feel in her body and mind. He had completely controlled their meeting. 

He wanted to train her. Apparently he was some sort of voice tutor which would explain his interest in her voice. But it didn't seem very normal to rehearse at night in an old dressing room and usually tutors charged you for their lessons. Everything about this screamed at her that she shouldn't agree, that something was wrong about it. So why did she trust him?

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even see the small blonde energy that raced towards her. Meg threw her arms around her neck, making Christine stagger and soon they were both sprawled on the floor laughing. 

"Meg! How good to see you! I didn't think you would be home before tomorrow."

"Maman was kind enough to call a carriage for all of us and let us go home today. We just arrived ten minutes ago. I knew you would be here somewhere, though I hadn't expected you to end up here." Meg looked around the hall as if it had any meaning.

"Uhm, where am I?" Christine was embarrassed that she didn't know. Meg had showed her every corner of the opera, but she hadn't paid attention to where she was headed.

"In the old hall, hall 1. There's nothing but props and old dressing rooms down here. Word has it that it is haunted." Meg laughed in the weird way she did. "Let's go into the newer halls. Perhaps we can find some coffee before going upstairs. Maman said that you're welcome." Meg took Christine's hand. How strange that she had ended up here of all places! Then she remembered her tutor's words.

"I think I'll stick to tea, Meg."

***

 

Meg and Christine sat in the small living room of the Girys' apartment on the third floor of the opera. Meg with coffee while Christine stuck to unsweetened tea. She felt so safe in their apartment. It was filled with mementos from a life lived like the cabin she had shared with her father in Sweden had been. They hadn't been able to bring much on the long trip to Paris, so their apartment hadn't any momentoes yet.

The small ballerina had gone through every detail of the whole week she had been gone, telling Christine about every drama, injurie and the various men who had been at their performances at the dance hall. Christine wasn't that interested in gossip, but she liked to hear what the ballet rats and especially her best friend had been doing. It was so exciting compared to Christine's own life. 

When Meg turned her attention to Christine's past week, she was happy that she'd actually had something special happen to her. She ended up telling Meg everything about the mysterious Voice, the rose and the unbelievable applause. Meg listened intently, gasping several times and with a huge smile on her face.

But it changed when Christine told her friend about the note with the childish writing, the drawing and finally the meeting that very evening. In the end Meg looked positively pale and Christine was worried that her friend had caught the flu on her trip.

"Meg, what's the matter? You look ill."

"Your tutor, Christine, it's all so familiar. I don't want to frighten you, but you've met the Phantom of the Opera!"


	3. There is no Phantom

Christine laughed nervously at Meg's words. What was she talking about? Christine had been around the opera for months and she had heard nothing about such a thing. But Meg looked completely serious, her eyes wide and spooked.

"What are you talking about, Meg?" Her voice was light, but her mind wasn't. Had she truly seen a ghost? The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The smooth ethereal voice and the applause that seemed to come from everywhere at once; the shadowy figure with yellow eyes; the way he had seemed to disappear after leaving the box. She suddenly felt very cold.

"He haunts box 5! At least he did once... No one has seen or heard from him for several years, but when I was younger, he terrorized the opera." Christine wasn't sure if she believed her friend's words. Of course, Meg probably believed them, but every theater had their own superstitions. Still, ghouls and goblins had always fascinated her, so she wanted to learn more. Especially if her strange tutor had anything to do with this Phantom.

"Tell me everything." She said and it was enough to set Meg off in a long tale about strange occurrences, whispers from the walls, along with sudden changes in the musical compositions and in the stage design. And then the more serious matter of someone extorting the managers. A previous manager, M. Le Favre had always paid a monthly fee to the Opera Ghost and let box 5 be free for his use, but when M. Firmin and M. André bought the opera, they refused. It resulted in several accidents, none serious, but enough to make them oblige to the terms. Until the money left for him in box 5 wasn't taken for several months. The Phantom had simply seemed to have disappeared.

To Christine all of this sounded like typical opera superstitions to explain regular occurrences. And the money part was likely an employee who had been extorting the managers while using the story about the Phantom of the Opera to scare them. She couldn't deny that the extortionist might be her tutor since he had access to box 5 and knew his way around the opera, but why would he then stop? And why appear now to her?

It was clear that Meg found the whole story about the Opera Ghost very thrilling, so Christine asked more about it to please her friend. The more she heard, the more she dismissed the Phantom as mere superstition. She had might been more fascinated by it if she'd been younger and hadn't seen so much of the world. Meg had spent most of her life at the opera, so it was natural that these things meant a lot to her.

After an hour of talking, Madame Giry finally returned from the dance hall as well. She looked extremely tired and older than Christine had ever seen her. Perhaps it had been a tough week with the 20+ teenage girls to watch over. Meg was one of the oldest. 

"Hello, dear. It's good to see you again." Madame Giry's smile, despite her fatigue, was one of the things that made Christine feel very welcome in their home. "Your father is ready to go home, I believe." Christine nodded and got up to clean her tea cup in the kitchen. It was the least she could do. Meg followed her, but stopped in front of her mother and took her bag.

"Maman, Christine has met the Opera Ghost!" Meg's excited voice was a bit too loud in the small space and Christine noticed how the older Giry winced. Then her eyes widened slightly.

"Meg, you know as well as I that there is no Opera Ghost. There has been no disturbances in years." 

"But Christine has seen him in box 5! Or at least his shadow and yellow eyes. Tell her, Christine!" Meg's pleading eyes met her, but she was afraid that the Madame would think that she was the type to meet strange men in the boxes of the opera.

"It's unimportant-"

"Yellow eyes?" 

Madame Giry and Christine spoke at the same time and it was then that Christine noticed the shocked eyes of her friend's mother. Where she had been completely dismissive a moment ago, she now looked worried or perhaps even scared. It was only a split second before she returned to her stoic expression, but it had been clear as day.

"Christine, tell me what happened. I probably know who it is you've met." And so Christine recalled the events related to her would-be tutor, though in a shorter version than she had given Meg. Her mother gave nothing away, but listened with intent. When Christine had finished, she wasted no time before speaking.

"I know who this tutor is. I'll speak to him and hear if he's serious about... tutoring you." Her voice was a bit strange, but Christine might have read too much into it. It was getting very late and her father was waiting for her downstairs, so she just nodded and said her goodbyes to the Girys.

***

 

When she walked home with her father, he appeared to be a bit intoxicated and Christine wanted to use the opportunity to question him about his change of heart when it came to her singing on stage. Not that she didn't love Raoul and wanted to marry him - she did - but she would've waited to accept his proposal and try to make it in the opera first. The only reason that she didn't do that was her father's advice to accept.

"Papa," His warm smile was nice, even if he had been drinking. He wasn't drunk at least. "I miss singing." She figured honestly was the best solution as long as she didn't tell him about her Maestro.

"I know you do, älskling. I've seen the way you watch the performances at the opera." He sounded regretful and she wondered why. "I've decided to ask your fiancé if you perhaps could sing in church after you are married. Wouldn't that be nice?" He urged her to smile and answer that yes, it would be nice. But it was just that: Nice. She wanted more than that; she wanted spectacular and magnificent.

"You once told me that I was born to sing. Has this changed?"

He sighed at her words and looked away in an expression she couldn't decipher. "It hasn't, my child. Your voice is exceptional. But my experience in life has taught me that it's hard to live by music alone. Sometimes you will be forced to make decisions that you never wanted to make." His voice was back to regretful again, making Christine wonder if she had been one of those decisions. He could've left her with her mother's family as a child and travelled on his own, but instead he had brought her along. It must've made things more difficult. 

"Do you think it's sacrilege to neglect the voice God has given me?" At this he stopped and looked at her seriously.

"God has not given you something that he would force you to use. If you want to honor Him for the gift, singing in church will surely be enough for Him."

They began walking again in silence. Her father's answers hadn't helped her the slightest. Perhaps she had hoped that he would praise her like he had when she was younger; like her Maestro had. The latter, at least, believed in her.

***

 

Saturday was spent with shopping for her life as a Vicomtess with Raoul's sister and mother. Or it was more accurate to say that they picked out gowns that she had to try on and then criticized her shape. She knew that fashion dictated that the clothes should provide the illusion of curves while your body should be as shapeless as possible. Christine wasn't shapeless and it made it more difficult to find gowns that fit her without making her breasts look obscene and the bustle unnecessary.

However her mind was somewhere else. On her lesson tonight actually. It was exciting and nerve-wrecking to think of having an actual tutor. She had only ever had her father. Would her Maestro be too nice to offer feedback or would he be strict? Did he expect something more of her than the few rules he had set up? She touched the scarf around her neck to ensure that it was still in place. She would do as he asked of her, as long as it was decent. It was bad enough that she was meeting him unchaperoned.

The women of her future family took no notice of the faraway look in her eyes, explaining her distraction with the fact that Raoul was coming home the next day. Christine felt so ashamed that he wasn't the reason for her distraction. Of course she was happy that he would finally return, if only for a few days, but she couldn't deny that her fiancé had no chance against her lover. Fore it was music that held her heart.

Ever since her Maestro's words about her voice, she was beginning to feel that marrying into the life of Vicomtess was being unfaithful to music, her true love. She was even entertaining the thought of postponing the wedding.

The day felt longer than usual, but when evening came, she quickly went to the opera. As always she watched the evening's performance, but tonight her mind began to wander to the way she would perform differently on stage. While Carlotta preferred to end a song with the last word as a high note, Christine imagined herself drawing the last word out in a series of fluttering notes, giving it a playful feeling. She would pour her feeling into a sorrowful aria unlike Carlotta who used the power of her voice to convey the sorrow. And she would remember her cast members and treat them with respect. Christine admired Carlotta immensely, but she had heard from Meg and seen for herself how Carlotta treated others. Christine was sure that she would never do that herself.

The show wasn't over when time began to near 10 o'clock and she didn't want to risk being late. She had already been by the dressing room earlier to ensure that she knew where she was going. The room was small and abandoned, only lit by the sunlight coming from the windows, but it still held a dressing screen, a vanity, a small divan and a large mirror which covered much of a wall. It was a strange place to have a music lesson, but nothing about this whole ordeal was normal.

She hadn't thought about Meg's words about the Phantom of the Opera all day. It wasn't until she neared the dressing room again, 5 minutes before 10 o'clock, that she suddenly felt her mouth dry and her pulse increasing. What if this was the Phantom? He might not be a ghost, but still a criminal and surely dangerous. She had momentarily felt frightened of him last night when he had risen from his seat. He had been so angry about her words of being a proper Vicomtess - her reason for not auditioning. But his behavior had swiftly changed when he had seen the fear in her eyes which led her to believe that he didn't want her to fear him; he wanted her to trust him.

It appeared that most of all he just wanted to hear her sing. And she wanted to sing. Wasn't that a match made in heaven? It was with that thought that she confidently entered the old dressing room.

The room was the same, but it looked to be completely changed. The curtains were drawn, so they couldn't be seen from the street and candles were lit from all corners of the room, creating a comforting atmosphere. The dressing screen had been folded and moved to the back wall which gave the room a feeling of having more space. In the middle of the room stood a music stand with a few music sheets and a stool with a glass of water. All that was missing was her tutor.

She entered the room completely, closed the door behind her and glanced around the room like he could be hiding behind something. It was silly because his tall frame would be impossible to miss, but she felt his presence. And she literally jumped when she heard his voice as if he was right in front of her.

"Good evening, Christine. Shall we begin?" His voice was, as it had been last night, pleasant. No, not pleasant actually, but entralling and warming. However it didn't distract her from the fact that he wasn't in the room, even as she heard him right there. She looked around in distress.

"Where a-are you?" She couldn't hide the fear in her voice. Suddenly the Phantom with the whispers from the walls appeared very real to her.

"Not to worry." His voice turned soothing and it instantly worked on her which worried her even more. How could his voice do that to her? "I'm behind the mirror. You're safe." She felt almost too calm by the way he spoke to her as if his voice was lulling her to sleep.

"Stop making your voice do _that_." She whispered. When he didn't answer, she knew that he had used his voice on purpose to make her calm down. "Is it magic? Or are you really the Phantom of the Opera?" She dared to peek at the mirror where he had said that he was. But he couldn't stand behind the mirror because there was only a wall. Then he had to be inside the wall. All Meg's tales of the Phantom in the walls were suddenly the truth. 

"There is no Phantom!" He stressed. He sounded insistent, but not angry. "Not anymore at least. Surely Mlle Giry must've informed you of that too." He sounded suddenly anxious and resigned and an ache in Christine heart grew as he spoke. She felt a loneliness, much deeper than her own. "If you wish me to leave you be, I will."

"No, Maestro, but I need you to tell me the truth and not hide in the walls. That's where you truly are, isn't it?" She stared directly at the mirror now, not as frightened after she had heard the very human qualities in his voice.

"I am. It's... for the best." He was hesitant to answer more and it made Christine extremely curious. 

"Why?"

"It has nothing to do with you or why we're here, so I would rather not discuss it." He was growing impatient. Christine shifted on the spot, looking down at the old light green carpet which had probably been a darker green at some point. She wanted to stand her ground, but she was afraid that he would turn her down. However it was too strange to expect her to sing to a mirror.

"I want you to teach me, Maestro, but I need to be able to trust my tutor. Tell me, are you the Opera Ghost?"

He sighed, then relented. "I was, once upon a time. I haven't been for some time. I've kept to myself, to spare others of my presence." His words made no sense to Christine, but only one question rose in her.

"So why are you here?"

"Because I heard your voice. And it made me feel music flow inside of me for the first time in many years." She gasped at his passionate words and the thrill of the truth she could hear plainly in his confession. In the mirror she saw herself blush profusely and she was glad that he couldn't see her through the mirror. "I mean I think you have potential." He cleared his throat as he backtracked nervously.

"Thank you, Maestro." She said shyly, then looked around the surface of the mirror because she wanted eye contact, but it wasn't really possible when he was actually inside the wall. "Will it not make our lesson easier if you are in the room?"

"I think it's best that I'll stay here for now."

"Why?" As soon as she had spoken the word, she could practically hear him groan in frustration over her questions. She had been told before that she asked a lot of questions.

"Because I am different, Christine, and frighten people. You would not want me teaching you if you knew."

"I'm more frightened when I can't see you. What's so different about you? You showed yourself in the box last night."

"You didn't actually see me, did you?" He was right, she didn't. But he wasn't a midget nor a giant, despite his tall shape. He didn't have a hunchback either. "There's a reason that I hide and keep away from people. Perhaps when we have had a few lessons, we can change the setting and add accompaniment."

Christine knew that she wasn't going to get more information out of him and by the way he reacted, she had the feeling that she had been told more than most people had. But she was nervous after he had confessed that he was the Phantom or had been. She wouldn't alert the managers or gendarmes, but it made her question whether she could trust him. However she didn't have much of a choice if she wanted lessons.

She decided to change the topic to get rid of the tension. She could bring it up at another time when he knew her better. "So you can play an instrument?" She kept her tone light and was once again glad that he couldn't see her as she twisted her hands in her skirt.

"I do. Several. Shall we begin?" She nodded and walkdd over to the stand with music sheets. "You sight read?" Once again she nodded and went through the first page. She was surprised to see that it was only for warming up, though it was more complicated that she had seen before. The next few pages were exercises.

"We're not doing an aria today?"

"No, we'll not be doing that yet. The most important things are for you to learn how to control your breathing as it is absolutely abhorrent, use less strain on the lower notes and practice keeping the tones without wavering. Also we need to address your pronouncation. It's fine in Swedish and French, but it's almost impossible to understand your Italian." She was surprised by all the things he thought that she did wrong, but she supposed that it was better than being too nice on her.

And thus they began their lesson.


	4. Double lives

They were halfway through the lesson when she began to suspect that he could see her. She had barely made it through the first of the exercise before he had commented on her posture. He stopped her several times and told her to straighten her back, lift her head, even the level of her shoulders... It seemed so unlikely that he could _hear_ the effect of her bad posture. But he was inside a wall which was covered by a mirror.

"Christine! What has you so distracted?" That's when she realized how foolish she had been. She had just been staring into the mirror, contemplating and not singing while he ranted about her failings, and he had _seen_ her be distracted. Somehow the mirror worked as a window for him, so he could see her clear as day while she only saw her reflection. How unfair! 

"You can see me!" She waited for him to deny it, but his following silence confirmed it. "What kind of mirror is that? Is that for spying on women undressing? What kind of person installs that in a dressing room?"

"I..." The voice was unsure and didn't say anything else for several moments. When he spoke again, he sounded more impassive as he had before. "I didn't keep this a secret to you. I thought that you had realized it immediately." Great, now he was making her feel stupid. "I've used it as an entrance before, that's why I installed it." An entrance from the walls, she thought. Just when she had forgotten that she was with a criminal, previously known as the Opera Ghost, it returned to her mind.

"Why make it in a dressing room? And why a mirror where you could look out at the people in the room?" She pushed the thought about the Opera Ghost to the back of her head again. The advises he had given her in this short time were admittedly very good, so she wanted to remain his pupil. He had said that he wasn't the Phantom anymore and that's what the Girys had told her. But she couldn't ignore everything, not things of the present.

"I didn't know that it was to be a dressing room when I built it. When I realized it, I made sure that I could see if anyone was in the room before I would enter." He sounded slightly flustered, but it might've been Christine's imagination. She only really heard one of the things he said.

"You built it?" 

"Christine, all this is not something I want to discuss. I'm not... used to talking this much to others and I'd rather not. If you do not wish for my lessons, I will leave you be." Once again he sounded like it was inevitable that she would leave. She supposed that it was correct as she was to be married in 10 weeks, but somehow her mind wouldn't accept that it would end their lessons. She was already intrigued. 

"I apologize. I don't want to discontinue our lessons, but this is very unusual to me as well. I guess I have to trust your word. However I do expect for you to explain more to me in the future."

There wasn't any reply for a minut or so and she was beginning to wonder if he had already left. "Let's see how your voice will progress in the time up to your wedding." She heard the unspoken expectation that she would leave at that point and then he wouldn't have to disclose any secrets, but couldn't help but notice the resigned tone in his voice.

They continued their lesson without speaking more about the oddness of their arrangement. He was harsh with some of his comments, but she couldn't deny that he was right and she tried to better herself with his corrections. He was a perfectionist, that much was obvious, and she quickly began to crave the sweet humming she heard from him when she improved.

All too soon it was 11 o'clock and they had to part. It was late and she was tired, but she was enjoying herself and didn't want it to end. After bidding him farewell, she found herself unable to leave the room just yet. She was curious about this man and why he didn't feel comfortable enough to let her see him. Perhaps it was because music was such a personal thing to her; when she sang, she shared her soul with those who listened. Did he not trust what he heard in her? 

"Christine?" She was glad that he hadn't left and apparently had noticed her hesitance at the door. His light voice made it easier to ask him. "Did you want something else?" 

"I wondered," she began as she turned away from the door again, twisting her hands in her skirt until she reminded herself once again that he could see her. When she was about to speak the words, she felt her throat constrict. Then something else came out: "if you were satisfied with me tonight?" 

It was an honest question since he had spent so much time correcting her, but she also knew that he thought that her voice was special. That could only be a good thing, right? 

"It was only your first lesson and you were obviously nervous. As I've heard you sing when you thought no one was listening, I know it's my presence and the peculiar arrangement that are the cause." He sighed deeply as to shake away the regret in his voice. It worked. "I have no doubt that with your persistence, you will excel in a short time."

"Thank you, Maestro." She was truly grateful for his words. "I bid you good night."

"And a good night to you as well, Christine. Until Monday." His voice was back to impassive and strangely formal. She imagined him bowing slightly and lifting his hat, so she curtsied to the mirror. It left her feeling absolutely ridiculous, and she hurried out of the room. As she closed the door behind her, she paused in the hallway to catch her breath. Something about him put her on edge and it wasn't just the strangeness of their arrangement. But when she sang to him and he hummed along, it felt so right. 

She leaned briefly against the door and heard an odd clink of metal from the dressing room. She put her ear against the surface of the door, but couldn't hear anything more. She realized then that he had told her that it worked as an entrance which meant that he could be in there right now at this moment. She could meet him face to face. However it would possibly anger him to such a point that he would terminate his tutorship. Not wanting to risk it, she decided to ignore her curiosity and left the door to search for her father.

 

***

Christine was woken by her father tapping on her door. "My dear, there's a letter for you." Reluctantly she slipped out of bed, wrapped her dressing robe around her stiff body and found her slippers. She hadn't had enough rest and since it was a Sunday, she could sleep in and go to mass in the afternoon. They had chosen to go to a Catholic church for mass since there wasn't any Lutheran churches in Paris. 

Then she perceived what her father had said and reasoned that the letter must be from Raoul, telling her when to expect him. She hurried out of her room.

She found her father in the dining room with a cup of coffee and a newspaper, the small letter placed on the table by her regular seat. She wasted no time. Quickly she kissed her father's cheek and muttered a good morning before taking a seat across from him. She noticed his smirk, no doubt caused by the excitement rolling off of her. She hadn't seen Raoul in so long.

The writing on the envelope wasn't familiar, but when she turned it around to open it, she recognized the de Chagny family stamp. The stationary inside was 'From the desk of Raoul de Chagny' and she recognized his beautiful cursive writing, something he had struggled with in school, he had told her once. For a moment her thoughts drifted to her Maestro's childish writing, but quickly pushed it to the back of her mind and read Raoul's letter.

 

_My dearest Christine  
I've finally returned to Paris where I shall stay until Tuesday afternoon where I am to return to the Naval base. _

_I hope that you are as excited as I to spend some time together before we wed. I've arranged for a carriage for you at 10 o'clock this morning which will take you to_ Le Musset du Louvre  _where I will meet you and spend the day with you._

_I hope you do not have any plans today nor tomorrow as I wish to spend every minute with you. And I have a special surprise for you tomorrow evening that I know you will love._

_I look forward to sharing your company once again._

_Until then, your fiancé_  
_Vicomte Raoul de Chagny_

 

Christine looked at the clock. It was only 8 o'clock, so she had plenty of time to prepare. Right now she just wanted to share it with Meg who was her best, and well, only friend. She had asked a lot about Raoul. Hopefully they could meet while he was here. She also wanted to talk to Raoul about inviting Meg and Madame Giry to the wedding.

She quickly told her father about her plans with Raoul and hurried to dress for a day with a Vicomte. She knew that it was expected that she wore something that made him look good, so she donned one of the gowns she had bought with Raoul's sister and mother the day before. It was a light violet with a large bustle and a modest neckline. It didn't really fit her complexion in her opinion, but his family had complimented it, so she agreed to buy it. It definitely had the right amount of finery for a day with Raoul.

Then she took a carriage, as to not spoil the new gown, to the opera to tell the good news to Meg. She had just finished morning rehearsals when Christine arrived, but Madame Giry pulled her aside before she reached Meg. The older woman held up a finger to Meg to explain that she would have to wait a moment. 

"Hello Christine, it's good to see you again. How was your lesson yesterday with ... your Maestro?" The ballet instructor was stoic, but appeared more tense than usual and perhaps quite tired. 

"It was fine, I suppose." She mumbled. The truth was that she hadn't thought much about it this morning, but she had found it hard to sleep last night because she couldn't stop thinking about it. Who was this man truly? He definitely knew what he was doing in terms of improving her voice, but at the same time he was the infamous Opera Ghost; a stranger with a criminal background who wouldn't show himself to her. Then again Madame Giry clearly knew him. If he was dangerous in any way, she would've told Christine, wouldn't she? 

"So you have seen him then, really?" The ballet instructor asked incredulously. The tone proved to Christine that they were talking about the same man.

"No, he instructed me behind a mirror, strange as it was." The Madame seemed curiously appeased by this fact. "But he has relented to explain more to me further. Do you know why?"

Madame Giry offered a curt "Non" and left swiftly, leaving Christine surprised. It was awful rude of the woman. But it was quickly forgotten when Meg embraced her.

"Christine! You look wonderful!" The ballerina almost shrieked into Christine's ear, but she could overlook it because she was relieved to hear the compliment. Perhaps the gown fit her complexion well enough then. Meg was rarely anything but honest.

"Meg, Raoul has finally returned! And he has promised to spend the next two days just with me." This made Meg shriek again, much to the annoyance of the people passing them in the hall.

"That's fantastic! Oh, perhaps I can finally meet him. Can you come to the performance this evening or tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure. He's taking me to the Louvre today and tomorrow evening he has some sort of surprise for me. But I'll ask him. I want you to meet him too!" Christine hoped that Raoul would personally invite Meg to the wedding, but if not, then she would make sure that the Girys got a formal invitation. 

"But I have to ask you, Christine, because I was so afraid for you. What happened with the Phant... I mean your lesson with your tutor?" Meg’s words made Christine's mood falter considerably because she had completely forgotten that she had a lesson tomorrow evening. She would have to cancel it for Raoul's surprise, something she really didn't want to do. "Are you alright, honey?" Meg tugged at her arm and Christine snapped back to the present. 

"It was fine, Meg, but I just realized that I can't attend the next lesson because of Raoul's surprise. It is so rude to cancel a lesson and it's such a short notice. Not to mention that it's only our second lesson. And I don't even know how to contact him!" The thought of disappointing her tutor was harder than she would've imagined. She felt slightly panicked and then wondered why her Maestro's approval was so important to her. But it was and a cancelation would definitely not be welcome. Would he surmise that her heart wasn't in it if she canceled? 

"Do not worry, Christine. Maman knows him. Surely, she must know a way. Come, you can write him a note that my Maman can pass on." They walked up to the Girys' apartment where Meg found pen and paper. Christine contemplated what to write, but luckily her friend helped her. She was glad that she had spent much time on improving her written French. 

Meg hailed a carriage for Christine's return to her home and promised to make sure that her mother passed the note to the Maestro, so Christine could spend her time to Raoul. 


End file.
